Pretty
by AndrewZachariah
Summary: Harry liked looking so pretty. He liked it a lot. Genderqueer/genderfluid Harry has been hiding his gender his entire life, when he is finally caught. What is he going to do now, and will he be able to keep his secret? Slash. Genders outside the binary system. Blaise/Harry
1. Chapter 1

**I have a story idea that's been nagging me for a while. I'm not sure how frequently I'll update, and I don't know how long this is going to be, but I want to write it.**

**The idea for this story is that Harry is genderqueer/genderfluid (I haven't decided which yet) and he's been hiding it his whole life. The pairing I'm going for is Blaise/Harry. With that in mind, there will probably be slash later on in the story. Okay, let me repeat that: THERE WILL BE SLASH LATER IN THE STORY. If you don't like gay relationships, or you don't want to read about genders outside the binary system, then please don't read this story. I have no patience and no tolerance for people who read something they don't like and leave hateful comments about it.**

**I would appreciate it if you didn't flame me, thanks.**

**Andrew Zachariah**

At five years old, Harry didn't normally clean Aunt Petunia's room. She said she didn't want him getting his _freakishness_ all over her nice things. Harry quite agreed with his aunt's assessment; there was simply no need to have her trinkets and clothes ruined by a freak like him. Despite her best attempts, however, sometimes Aunt Petunia just didn't have the time to clean up after herself.

Harry gingerly stepped into his aunt and uncle's room. The little boy's eyes were wide as he stared at the unfamiliar surroundings. For a moment the child stood still, but then he shook himself. He had a job to do, after all. Harry marched up to the large bed and quickly stripped it of its covers, piling the duvets, comforters, and sheets off to the side. Harry efficiently began replacing the sheets, plumping the pillows and straightening the bedding just so. Aunt Petunia had told him he needed to wash her vanity too, but that he had to be gentle. If anything broke, he wouldn't be eating for a week!

Harry took small, tentative steps towards the vanity. The table was white, with delicately curving legs and a small stool. There were three mirrors attached to the table, and three pictures of the family rested in front of the mirrors. Harry gently picked up each photo, polishing it with the utmost care before setting it back down. Make up was carefully organized across the table top, and Harry picked each container up to stare at it in wonder.

There were several ornate tubes of lipstick and palettes of eye shadow. There were small square containers filled with pink blushes, and bronze powders, and there was a container labeled "foundation." Harry slowly ran his fingers over the soft brushes, reveling in the silky feel of the smooth tops and tips.

Harry glanced at the bedroom door wearily, waiting for Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon to jump out and scream "Gotcha Freak!" The Dursleys were in London shopping today, but one could never be too sure. When nothing happened, Harry slowly lowered himself onto the white stool, silently praying that he wasn't spreading his freakishness all over the vanity.

Harry opened the drawer on the right, his eyes widening as he stared at the various necklaces and bracelets. There were strands of pearls, gold necklaces, diamond bracelets, and gold watches. Harry ran his fingers over the smooth pearls reverently. They were so shiny, so beautiful. With trembling fingers, Harry slowly pulled out a strand of pearls, looping it over his head twice so the long necklace fit. Stretching up as tall as he could on the chair, Harry examined himself in the mirror.

His hair was a mess as usual, and his skin was rather pale. He had a fading bruise on his right shoulder, but Harry quickly pulled his shirt up, hoping it wouldn't slide down again to reveal his mottled skin. Harry's eyes were bright, but the little boy didn't know what it meant. All that really mattered was the way the pearls shined against his throat. Harry ran his fingers over the small beads, his plump lips parting into a smile.

Harry's eyes fell on the tubes of lipstick and he bit his lips thoughtfully. Aunt Petunia wouldn't mind if he tried some on right? She wouldn't notice if he used just a little bit surely. Having made up his mind, the small boy reached for a silver tube, pulling off the cap with a low pop. The lipstick was a deep red, much like the color of his uncle's wine. Harry's eyes darted up to the mirror and he focused on his lips. Harry was very good at coloring in Dudley's old coloring books. He stayed in the lines and didn't make mistakes because he was a very careful boy. Firming his determination, Harry slowly raised the lipstick to his bottom lip, watching in awe as his lips began to color like his uncle's wine.

With slow, sure strokes Harry applied the lipstick, smiling at his reflection when he was finished. There wasn't even any on his teeth! Harry recapped the lipstick and put it back where he had found it. Then he simply stared.

Harry liked wearing the pearl necklace, and he liked how pretty his lips looked with Aunt Petunia's lipstick on them. Harry felt a blush rise to his cheeks as he continued to look at his reflection. Harry liked looking so pretty. He liked it a lot.

The sound of a car driving past the house made young Harry jump. He quickly but gently pulled the pearls off and placed them back in their drawer. He dashed to the master bathroom and wiped the lipstick off with some toilet paper, grimacing when it smeared. Harry flushed the toilet paper down the toilet and ran downstairs to get the vacuum. He had chores to do after all, and besides, freaks like him weren't supposed to feel pretty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Alright, here's the first update! Go me! Go me! I still haven't decided if Harry is going to be genderqueer or genderfluid. At this point I'm leaning more towards genderfluid, but I have several chapters to go before I _really_ need to pick. As I said in the previous chapter, there is SLASH in this story, and there are NONBINARY characters. Don't like it, don't read!**

**Please don't flame me, thanks! Let me know what you think of the chapter!**

**Andrew Zachariah**

Over the past two years Harry had developed a rather bad habit of sneaking into Aunt Petunia's room to practice with her make up. Harry knew only bad boys snuck around and used other people's things, but he loved Aunt Petunia's make up so much that he couldn't be bothered to care. He liked the way eyeliner would make his eyes so much bigger, and he liked how long his eyelashes were when he wore mascara. Harry loved lipstick the most though. He loved how full and bright his lips would look, especially when he used the red wine color. Harry would admit that he had gotten rather good at using make up, perhaps even better than Aunt Petunia.

When he was seven years old, Harry had discovered the dresses. Aunt Petunia had been gifted with a new set of china over Christmas, so she had carefully packed all her old china up and ordered Harry to take the boxes up to the attic. Harry had been warned that if he dropped anything, he would get the beating of his life, and there would be no meals for two weeks.

Harry knew to be careful. He would be as careful with the china as he was with Aunt Petunia's pearl necklace, not that she knew Harry played with her necklace of course.

Harry slowly but surely lugged the heavy boxes up the stairs, depositing them on the landing before he went back downstairs to get a stool. Harry set the stool down next to the ladder to the attic, and placed one of the boxes on top. Pulling himself onto the ladder, Harry climbed halfway up and hooked his little feet around the side rungs, hoping he wouldn't fall as he reached for the box on the stool.

Harry swayed and wobbled precariously, but the boy breathed a sigh of relief when he did, in fact, stay on the ladder. Harry quickly pushed the box into the attic and repeated the process for the last two parcels. Harry knew he would get in trouble if he didn't put the boxes away, so he scrambled into the attic to try and find a home for the china.

Harry had never been in the attic before, and he looked around with wide eyes at the stacks of dusty boxes. The attic wasn't very big, but Harry could see a corner that seemed to have some space for the china. Lugging the boxes over, Harry carefully stacked them on top of each other. He was about to leave the attic when a label caught his eye.

_Lily's Dresses._

Harry's heart raced. Dresses? What kind of dresses? And who was this Lily? Why did Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon have her clothes? Harry glanced back at the hatch to the attic, biting his lip anxiously. Did he dare risk opening the box? If Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon discovered his bad habits, they would know he was a bad boy _and_ a freak! Harry's eyes darted between the box and the door. He wanted to see the dresses. He wanted to see them really badly.

Stomping his foot with a huff, Harry finally began to inch closer to the dusty box, as if he was afraid something would leap out from the shadowed depths. Harry ran his fingers over the faded cardboard, gnawing on his lips. He could do this, it was just a box. Harry pulled the flaps open with no small amount of trepidation, closing his eyes with a flinch before he could catch a glimpse of the contents.

After several long moments of silence, Harry cracked one eye open. Nothing was happening, so he opened the other eye. Curiosity overtook fear as Harry looked into the box, excitement blooming in his chest. There were dozens of dresses neatly folded in the box, and Harry's hands trembled as he rifled through them.

Deep navy blue dresses with white buttons and pale pink dresses with lace and ruffles. Dresses with long sleeves and short sleeves, and dresses with jackets and dresses without. Harry's heart raced as he pulled out a navy blue dress. It had a pleated skirt with a white collar and a red bow tied in the front. There were three white buttons just above the pleats of the skirt where they would sit on Harry's waist. The little boy giggled as he stared at the dress. It reminded him a little bit of the sailor costumes he would see during Halloween.

Harry held the dress up against his body, shivering at the soft fabric. Should he try it on? Oh he wanted to. He really, _really_ did… but boys weren't supposed to wear dresses. If Harry put this dress on, that would make him a _real_ freak. Harry frowned. He didn't want to be a freak. Freaks didn't have families and they didn't get hugs and kisses and love because freaks didn't deserve it.

Harry rubbed the fabric of the dress in his hands. He really wanted to wear the dress. His heart ached for him to try it on. Maybe he could play pretend. That was okay, right? If you're playing dress up it doesn't count. Nobody is a freak if they're playing dress up.

Yes, that's what he would do. Harry nodded his head as he took the dress and scrambled down the attic ladder. He dashed into the bathroom and quickly stripped off his baggy shirt and scraggly pants. Harry's cheeks were flushed with excitement as he slipped the dress over his head. Harry smoothed his hands over the skirt and fingered the white trim at the edges of the short sleeves. The dress didn't cover the bruises on his legs, but Harry didn't care.

He looked so pretty.

Harry's hair had grown even longer after Aunt Petunia's last attempt to cut it off. It barely brushed his shoulders now, and Harry bit his lip as he swept it up behind him with one hand. He had seen the girls at school do this. It was called a ponytail, but only if there was one. Harry dropped his hair and split it down the middle, letting the two sections rest on his shoulders. That was called pigtails because there were two, according to Alyssa Gregory.

Harry's fingers slowly gathered his hair and pushed it over his right shoulder. He parted it into three sections, placing one section over the other in a tight pattern. When he was finished, Harry held the ends of his hair and looked at his reflection. That was called a braid. Harry liked braids the most.

Harry let his hair go as he stared at the mirror. He looked so pretty. His eyes were bright and shining, like those fancy jewels Aunt Petunia would talk about. He was smiling, and his lips were a rosy pink all on their own! Harry blushed as he looked at himself. He knew he was being vain by staring this long and only the naughty boys were vain, but he couldn't help it. The pleats started at his waist, and when Harry twirled they flared out around his legs. The little boy giggled and ran his fingers over the dress one more time.

He needed to take it off now. Aunt Petunia had said the garden needed to be weeded and the roses needed to be pruned before the Dursleys returned from a play in the city. Harry wanted to cry. He didn't want to take the dress off, but he had to. With a mournful sigh, the little boy slowly slid out of the soft cotton and back into his baggy clothes. He didn't look so pretty anymore.

Harry returned the dress to its box in the attic and closed the hatch behind him. He was only playing dress up after all, and the dress had to be put away when he was done. Harry stomach churned as he walked out to the garden. This didn't make him a freak, did it? Harry wasn't a freak. He wasn't! Harry stubbornly bit his tongue as he staved off tears and kneeled down to begin weeding. He was only playing dress up, and sometimes you felt pretty when you played dress up. Harry wasn't a freak. He wasn't.


	3. Chapter 3

**Well Harry's gotten to mess around with some dresses now, so let's try something a little different. Again, this story involves characters who identify outside the gender binary, and gay relationships. Which means SLASH folks! The pairing is Blaise/Harry.**

**Please don't flame me thanks!**

**AndrewZachariah**

When Harry was eight he got to visit London for the first time. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were going to a big business get-away with Uncle Vernon's boss, and Dudley had been invited to go too. Of course, Harry wasn't allowed to go to the get-away, but he already knew he wouldn't be going. Aunt Petunia had pursed her lips and sucked her cheeks in when Mrs. Figg had told her she would be going to see a veterinary with Mr. Tibbles and couldn't watch Harry. That meant Harry was going with his aunt and cousin to get Dudley a new suit for the fancy dinner at the get-away. Harry was going to see London!

Petunia had given Harry a very severe warning before they got into the car. "Don't you go about doing anything funny, boy, or I'll tell Vernon! I won't have any of your _freakishness_ ruining this trip for my sweet Dudders." Aunt Petunia had cuffed him on the head just to remind him, and Harrry's heart had sunk. His aunt didn't even know the half of his freakishness.

Ever since Harry had discovered the dresses in the attic, he had been sneaking up there at every chance to try them on. He had worn the navy blue sailors dress, and he had worn the pink dress with lace and ruffles. He's tried on a green dress with a plaid pattern on the top, and a long sleeved pale blue dress with white buttons. Harry had found a yellow dress at the bottom of the box that had flowers all over it. He wanted to try that dress on the first chance he had.

Harry sat in the back of the car the whole ride to London. He was very quiet, unlike Dudley who whined about the car being too hot, then too cold, then too quiet, then too loud when Aunt Petunia turned the music on. In Harry's humble opinion, Dudley whined far too much. When the big boy had nothing left to complain about, he took to pestering and pinching and flicking and bothering Harry. Harry really didn't like Dudley, and he breathed a sigh of relief when the car finally pulled up to the suit shop in London.

Petunia hissed at Harry to keep quiet while he sat in the corner of the shop, and the little boy complied happily. He sat on a stool and watched as an assistant came over to help his aunt and cousin. Harry's eyes wandered over the rack of suits, and he couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to wear one. Harry stared longingly at a black suit with a green tie the color of his eyes. Harry liked that suit. He wished he could try it on, but then Aunt Petunia would tell Uncle Vernon and Harry would get a nasty beating.

"Hi! My name's Amanda. Are you here for a suit too?" Harry startled at the assistant's voice that seemed to be right in his ear. Jumping up, Harry spun around and shook his head near violently.

"No, no! My cousin needs a suit for a dinner he has to attend. I just… came along." Harry mumbled, twisting his hands in his baggy shirt.

"Oh nonsense; I'm sure we can find a suit for you too!" Amanda grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him towards the dressing room, much to the boy's horror. Aunt Petunia caught sight of them and she looked livid as Harry was pushed into a dressing room. The boy gulped fearfully as the assistant patted his shoulder.

"Don't you worry; I'll find something for you no problem!" Amanda spun on her heel and took off on her hunt for a suit. Harry fought the trembles threatening to take over his hands. When the boy peeked out from behind the door he could see his aunt's enraged glare boring into his dressing room. He was definitely getting a beating, Harry mourned as he shut the dressing room door.

Amanda's prompt, cheerful knock had Harry opening it again. "Here you are!" The assistant gushed as she hung a suit up in the dressing room. "Try it on and let me know what you think!" She called over her shoulder as she left. Harry's mouth went dry as he looked at the suit. It was the one he was looking at earlier; the one with the green tie.

Harry's hands shook as he gently slid the suit off its hanger. Harry ran his fingers over the tie in wonder, reveling at the silky smooth feeling of the fabric. Harry shivered with excitement as he rapidly slid out of his own baggy clothes and piled them in the corner of the dressing room.

Harry slid his arms in to the sleeve of the white dress shirt, buttoning each button one at a time. He knew he should tuck his shirt into his pants because it made boys look smart, so he did just that. The pants felt silky smooth on his legs, almost like water. Harry dared not look at his reflection yet. He grasped the tie and bit his lip. Harry had seen Uncle Vernon tie the knots many times, so it couldn't be that hard. Harry fingers clumsily fumbled through the tying of the knot, and the boy was proud when he managed to get it settled at his collar. Harry then pulled the jacket on and looked in the mirror.

Suits were different than dresses. Dresses made Harry feel pretty. They were soft and fluttery. Dresses were gentle and kind and sweet. Dresses made Harry want to giggle and dance and smile. Suits made Harry feel pretty too, but differently. Not pretty, but handsome. Suits made Harry feel strong. He stood differently when he wore a suit. He felt like… a man? Yes, something like that. Harry really couldn't put his finger on it, but that was close enough for now.

Amanda knocked on the door and Harry startled out of his reverie. "Are you done?" Harry licked his lips and straightened his shoulders. He twisted the door handle and stepped out of the dressing room to Amanda's squeals of delight.

Later, when Harry was curled on his cot nursing cuts and bruises, the little boy would think about suits and dresses, and men and women. He didn't really understand it, but he thought he quite liked the idea of being a boy _and_ a girl.


	4. Chapter 4

**Apologies for the delay; I got caught up in finals and another HP fic I'm working on. To the genderfluid reviewer, I hope this accurately portrays genderfluidity:)Anyways, here is another chapter. This story will have a NON BINARY CHARACTER and it will have something similar to SLASH in it. This is a Blaise/Harry fic. If you don't like it, don't read, and don't flame me.**

**Andrew Zachariah**

He just had to accept it. Harry knew that he just had to get over it, and accept that he was a freak.

The boy was sitting on his cot in his cupboard with his arms wrapped around his thin legs. The cupboard was shadowed and dark because the light bulb was burnt out, but Harry had other things to worry about at the moment. He stared at a small cluster of spiders hanging in the corner of his cupboard and nibbled on his lip anxiously. Harry liked spiders. Spiders didn't judge you. They didn't care if you were a freak who spread his freakishness everywhere. Spiders were nice.

"I'm not normal." Harry whispered to the spiders. He was only nine and he knew that was young compared to Aunt Petunia or heaven forbid Mrs. Figg, but he also knew he was certain he wasn't normal. Harry was certain he was a freak.

"I feel different than the other boys at school." Harry murmured, dropping his eyes to the frayed blanket covering his cot. Harry picked and pulled at one of the strings while the spiders shuffled a bit on their web. Everything was quiet.

"Sometimes…" Harry choked on the rest of his sentence. If he said it out loud would that make it true? What if he wasn't really a freak yet, because he hadn't said it out loud? Harry gulped. He wanted to say it though. It hurt to hide everything. He hid so many things and kept so many secrets, and Harry really, _really_ didn't want to hide this one anymore.

"Sometimes I feel like a girl." The boy's whisper barely reached the spiders, which paused in their activities. They were dutifully spinning another web, but they stopped each time the boy's melodic voice reached their corner. "And…and sometimes I feel like a boy…" Harry felt a shiver run down his spine as he tightened his arms around his legs. He was really doing it. "And sometimes…sometimes I feel like I'm in between. I call it _tweensies_." The spiders shuffled a bit, and Harry heard the faint bark of a dog several houses down. "Does that make me a freak?"

The spiders didn't answer. Harry's shoulders sagged. He hadn't expected them too anyway.

On the days that he felt like a girl Harry really hated his body. He hated the _thing_ between his legs, and he hated that his chest would always be flat. He hated that he wasn't allowed to wear dresses and skirts and pretty things. When Harry felt like a girl he had to remind himself that he wasn't allowed to cross his legs in public, and that his hips shouldn't sway just the littlest bit when he walked. When Harry felt like a girl he loved his hair though. He loved how silky it was in spite of the way he lived. He loved how the deep black color would shine, and he loved that his hair was long, despite Aunt Petunia's best efforts to cut it off. When Harry felt like a girl, he would play with his hair in the safety of his cupboard. He would twirl the strands around his fingers and twist his hair up on his head. Harry would pull it back in a ponytail, or split it into pigtails, and then he would braid it and lay it over his left shoulder.

When Harry felt like a boy he was frustrated with how small and scrawny he was. Why couldn't he be taller? Why couldn't he be stronger? When Harry felt like a boy, he would walk with his shoulders back and his head up. His hips didn't sway when he walked, and his legs parted when he sat down, as if he was trying to take up space. When Harry felt like a boy he was happy to mow the lawn, and work on the landscaping. He felt better when he did stuff like that. He had grinned when Uncle Vernon had ordered him to wash the car the last time, because he had felt like a boy that day. Harry's hair was annoying when he felt like a boy, but when he was eight Harry had seen a ninja in one of Dudley's comic books. The ninja's put their long hair up in buns, and ninjas were obviously very manly, so Harry could do that too.

When Harry was feeling tweensies everything was different. Sometimes he was happy with his hair, and sometimes it annoyed him. Sometimes he was glad his chest was flat, and sometimes he lamented the fact that he would never have a big chest like girls. Sometimes Harry was happy with what was between his legs, and sometimes he wanted something different, and sometimes he wanted nothing at all. Tweensies could feel very strange sometimes. Once when he was feeling tweensies, Harry had really wished that he didn't look like a boy or a girl. He had wished that he looked like both and neither. He had wished that people couldn't tell. Harry wished for that a lot more lately when he was feeling tweensies.

Harry sighed. It was confusing sometimes, feeling like a boy and a girl, and both and neither. Sometimes Harry felt more like a girl, and sometimes he felt more like a boy. Sometimes he felt like a "mostly-man." That was new. He'd only felt like a mostly-man twice now.

Harry rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. The spiders were rustling in their corner, leaving Harry to think in peace. And Harry was thinking. He was thinking very hard. Harry was thinking that he wasn't too big of a freak, right? Because he still felt like a boy a lot, and he didn't always feel like a girl, so maybe he was only a little bit of a freak.

Harry groaned. Who was he kidding? Normal people didn't feel tweensies, or like a mostly-man. Normal people felt like a boy or a girl and that was that.

Harry sighed as he looked up at the spiders. "I'm a freak, aren't I?"

The spiders simply shuffled on their web.


	5. Chapter 5

**As I said, Harry is genderfluid, and as such, she is using she/her pronouns in this chapter because she felt like a girl on this day. No I didn't "screw up" her pronouns, yes she is still Harry; she's just using her preferred pronouns of the day. This story has a Blaise/Harry pairing, and will contain a NON BINARY character. If you don't like that, don't read this and don't flame me.**

**AndrewZachariah**

On her walk home from school, Harry decided that she rather liked Annie. She was very sweet and had a pretty smile, and she was really good at painting her nails too! Harry twirled as she practically skipped towards the Dursley household, a smile fluttering around her lips. She couldn't even feel the latest bruises from her uncle's fists she was so happy.

Annie was a new student in Harry's class, and Harry had been so very lucky to meet Annie on her walk to school this morning. Usually new students had already figured out Harry was a freak by the time they met her, and thus refused to linger in her presence. Harry thought those students were pretty smart. She wouldn't want to hang around a freak like her either. Annie was different though. Annie either didn't care that Harry was a freak, or didn't know in the first place.

Either way Harry was grateful for it because Annie was her first friend, and she intended to treasure that friendship.

Harry gently pushed open the garden gate, nimbly slipping into the house through the back door. Harry considered herself lucky that Aunt Petunia wasn't there to greet her with a list of chores. The little girl didn't dare take the free time for granted though. She scurried into her cupboard and silently shut the door, pulling on the cord to turn on the bare light bulb as she sat down on her cot.

As Harry continued to think on her newfound friendship, she easily braided her hair over her left shoulder and proceeded to pull out a large math book. Harry liked math. It was simple and easy to understand. There were rules to follow, and the outcome of the problem was guaranteed so long as the rules were obeyed. Harry liked these rules; they weren't like Uncle Vernon's rules, because they never changed.

Rubbing her forehead, Harry slowly worked her way through the fourth chapter in the textbook, her nose wrinkling each time she stumbled upon a particularly difficult problem. The sound of heavy footsteps and the slamming of the front door had the little girl scrambling to hide her textbook and backpack against the wall under her bed. Harry quickly undid the braid in her hair and instead threw it up in a messy bun. She drew her fingertips through her bangs as she listened to Aunt Petunia place, what sounded like groceries on the dining table.

Harry's relatives didn't like her scar and ordered her to hide it with her bangs. They didn't like how long her hair was either, and had frequently tried to shave it off, but Harry's hair always grew back the next morning. The last time Aunt Petunia tried to cut her hair, Harry had woken up with hair nearly three inches longer than it had previously been! Harry had gotten a rightfully deserved beating for allowing her freakishness to get out of hand, and she had been banned from eating for a week, but at least her relatives left her hair alone now.

Suddenly the door to her cupboard was ripped open, and Aunt Petunia's pinched face appeared in the doorway. "Up boy; there are groceries to be put away, and Vernon wants steak and potatoes for supper tonight!" Harry couldn't contain the smallest flinch at the word 'boy.' She wasn't a boy, at least, not today. Frowning slightly, the girl crawled out of her cupboard and hurried into the dining room to put away the groceries. As she was filling the fridge with various foods, Harry's thoughts again wandered to her new friend.

Annie had long, silky blonde hair and bright blue eyes. According to Ms. McGibbon , the school librarian, those were Adolf Hitler's ideal human characteristics, which meant Annie would have easily survived World War II. Harry continued to muse about her friend as she set aside the ingredients and spices for supper.

Annie like the color purple and she had just got a new puppy last week that she named Kipper. Annie and her family had moved to the neighborhood from London, and this was Annie's first time attending a public school. Annie's mom wrote books, and her dad worked in a big building where they built computers, or so Annie said. Harry knew that computers had to come from somewhere, but it seemed illogical to think that machines _smarter_ than humans were_ built_ by humans.

Harry gasped as she quickly righted the bottle of pepper. She had knocked it over while she was lost in her thoughts, and had nearly ruined supper as a result. Harry really didn't want another beating, so she vowed to focus on her task as she diligently flipped the steaks on the grill.

Harry liked cooking, especially when she was feeling like a girl. She liked to imagine that she was wearing Aunt Petunia's pearls around her throat, and she had on small white heels on her feet, and a pretty green dress too. She imagined that her hair would be long and wavy and flowing to her chest and her chest would be full and soft just like all the other girl's chests. Sometimes, when she really let her imagination wander, she would imagine her husband coming home and wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her while she cooked, just like she had seen in Aunt Petunia's secret movie stash. Harry liked to think that her husband would smile and laugh and join her in the kitchen, and they would cook dinner together.

Harry wished she was as happy as she was in her imagination.

Cursing under her breath, Harry quickly stuck her bleeding fingertip in her mouth. She hadn't cut herself in the kitchen in three years! Not since she had mastered the art of chopping when she was six! That was definitely enough daydreaming for her. Dreams didn't get you anywhere anyway, not when you're a freak like her. Dreams just left you wishing you could be happy one day.

Harry knew freaks weren't allowed to be happy because they were freaks. Deep down though, she hoped that one day she _would_ be happy. And maybe, just maybe, one day she would show her husband her dresses and her make-up, and maybe he would buy her some pearls like the ones in Aunt Petunia's room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Harry's pronouns are all over the place in this chapter because it tells of the past and the present. Hopefully it's not too confusing. And yes, Harry does use they/them pronouns in this chapter. I don't want to hear any shit about it; if you don't like that, don't read my story. I also figured I should mention that I am as queer as the rainbow is colorful, and I am not cisgender, and this chapter is based heavily on past experiences of my own. For those of you who are triggered by being rejected after coming out, I would recommend you do not read this chapter. This story has a Blaise/Harry pairing, and will contain NONBINARY characters. If you don't like that, don't read this and don't flame me.**

**AndrewZachariah**

"_Come on Harry, I've got something to show you!" Harry grinned as he followed his friend through the park, ducking under slides and swings, until they were eventually huddled under a great bush at the edge of the playground. Annie held a finger up to her lips as she gently reached into her pocket and pulled something out. Harry bounced on his heels as he eagerly waited for the surprise, pouting when Annie continued to make him wait._

"_You can't tell anyone, Harry." Annie whispered. "Promise me you won't tell; pinky swear!" Harry had never been asked to pinky swear before. Nobody trusted him enough. His grin was blinding as he held up his right pinky, clasping it with Annie's left._

"_I pinky swear not to tell __**anyone**__ about Annie's secret." The little girl grinned and immediately opened her fist. Harry's eye widened in shock as he stared at the baby bird Annie had procured from her pocket._

"_I found it in our garden this morning when I was walking over to your house." Annie explained. "I think it's hurt cause it won't fly anymore." Annie gently ran a fingertip over the bird's silky feathers, and it gave a quiet chirp and shuffled as if to move away. Harry thought the bird's wing was bent at a rather odd angle, and he lifted his finger to point it out to Annie, when a blue light shot from his finger to the bird! The bird squawked indignantly, and Harry froze. _

_Oh no. Nononono. He had done __**freakish**__ things again! Uncle Vernon was going to kill him! He would get the beating of his life, and his friend would never want to see him again! Blood was rapidly draining from Harry's already pale face as Annie turned wide eyes towards him. The bird was hopping on her hands, chirping and squawking as it flapped its wings. With one last cry, the bird hopped off Annie's hands and took to the skies. _

"_You didn't tell me you could do __**magic**__, Harry!" The girl cried quietly. Harry flinched at the term and cast his eyes towards his thin hands. Annie was going to hate him now._

"_That was so cool! You have to do it again! Don't worry, I won't tell anyone, I promise!" Annie grabbed Harry's hand and quickly looped her pinky with his. "Your magic can be our secret, just for us."_

"_Really?" Harry whispered._

"_Really, really." Annie whispered back with a grin._

_And for once, Harry thought he might not be a freak after all._

Harry couldn't help the tears that were pouring down their face. They had thought—they had thought…well, it didn't matter what they had thought, because they had obviously thought _wrong_.

The small child was wrapped in a little ball, their face streaked with tears that had steadily been leaking from their emerald eyes for the past hour or so. Harry swiped at the tears on their cheeks, desperately trying to pull their-self together. So what if they didn't have any friends now? They still had the spiders in their cupboard right?

Harry felt a watery chuckle bubble up in their throat, and when they could no longer hold it back, they were shocked by the hollowness of it as it echoed in their ears. Their laughter wasn't lively and happy, not anymore. Harry was a freak; they didn't deserve happiness.

The child flinched as words echoed in their ears.

"_You're not a girl Harry! You're a boy, and you don't get to wear make-up and dresses! How could you be so stupid, you—you freak!"_ Harry's fist slammed into their pillow with a muffled thump. How could they be so stupid indeed?

"I told her." Harry whispered to the spiders in their cupboard. "I told her, and she—she—" The child was cut off as they pressed a hand to their mouth, staving off another wave of tears. "She said I was a freak. God, I'm such a freak!"

_Harry closed her eyes and hummed as she skillfully braided Annie's thick hair. The girl was babbling about all kinds of things as she pointed out shapes in the clouds above. Tales of knights and princesses, of dragons, and evil wizards, and danger, and love fell from the redhead's lips. Harry smiled. She loved hearing her friend talk like this. Annie had such a big imagination! Harry could never think up so many fantastic things, but Annie always seemed to be imagining new creatures._

"_See there Harry, that cloud is a prince! And you see that one? That one is the princess in the castle, and the prince is going to meet her there. They plan to run away from the princess's wicked father. Come on!" Annie leapt off the ground, her braid flying through the air and landing on her shoulder. "You're the boy so you can be the prince, and I'll be the princess. We'll go fight dragons together!"_

_Annie grabbed Harry's hand and began to run down the hill, never noticing Harry's frown at being dubbed a prince._

"I told her sometimes I thought I was a girl. She looked at me with such—such horror! "Harry cried at the spiders, rubbing one of his eyes with a small fist. "She was so disgusted with me! I'm not disgusting, am I? I just feel like a girl sometimes! And it's not all the time! I feel like a boy too! I'm not a freak! I'm not!" Harry was sobbing again as they buried their face in their pillows. They remembered all the times Annie had rescued them from chores because Aunt Petunia wanted to keep up appearances. They remembered playing with Kipper, and meeting Annie's gerbil Hamlet. They remembered barbeques at Annie's house and having a full stomach for one night. They remembered the kind smiles Annie's parents had always given them, and the way they had always treated Harry's cuts and bruises with tender, loving touches.

Harry sobbed as they thought of the family they could have had. They sobbed as they thought of the friend they had lost forever. They cried, and cried, and cried, until there were no tears left, and they felt as hollow inside, as their laugh had sounded.

"_You will_** never** _be a girl, Harry Potter. You are a __**boy**__, and a stupid, freakish one too! You don't get to wear dresses and makeup, because you're a __**boy**__, and that's the way it's meant to be! I can't believe I was your friend! How could you trick me like this, you—you monster! We aren't friends anymore. I won't be friends with a freak like you!"_


	7. Chapter 7

**Right, this chapter is again based off some pretty personal experiences, and it has some trigger warnings. **

**TRIGGER WARNING FOR THE FOLLOWING: Self Harm, transphobia, murder, abuse, depression.**

**This story has a Blaise/Harry pairing, and will contain NONBINARY characters. If you don't like that, don't read this and don't flame me.**

**AndrewZachariah**

There comes a time in every person's life when you try to hide a portion of yourself. Sometimes, it's as simple as hiding your bad habit of indulging in a touch too much chocolate right before bed. Sometimes it's far bigger than that, and for Harry Potter, well; he was hiding lots of pieces of himself.

Harry stopped wearing make-up two days after his falling out with Annie. He was, after all, a boy and boys did _not _wear make-up. Harry made sure he kept his hands to himself on the rare occasion he was ordered to clean Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's bedroom, and he steadfastly ignored the urge to sneak in and play with his Aunt's make-up when his relatives were out for the day. Harry knew it was pointless, but he hoped his freakishness would eventually be suppressed if he stopped doing freakish things. At the very least, he could come off as normal to other people, and that was the most Harry could ask for.

He refused to even think about the dresses in the closet, and he did his absolute best to ignore the heavy feeling in his chest that grew worse and worse with each passing day. The heavy feeling was becoming too much though. It was all Harry could think about, and it made him want to fall to his knees and sob. It made him want to break very expensive glass figurines, and it made him want to tear his eyes out just so he could feel _something_ other than this heavy _nothingness_!

It started out small, these little things that he hadn't even really noticed he was doing. At first it was just biting his nails down to the nub. They were broken and filthy and Aunt Petunia was quite disgusted with his terrible habit, but Harry couldn't bring himself to stop. In fact, it got worse. He usually bit his nails till they bled. They ached and throbbed almost every day, but Harry didn't really mind that. The pain helped with, well, everything.

His raw nails weren't enough though, and as the weeks passed Harry started scratching. When he was left alone with just his thoughts, that's when it was worse. When all he could do was sit and stare into the shadowed corners of his cupboard, Harry would scratch the most. _Freak. Monster. Fucked up. Boy. Boy. Boy. Boy. Freak._ His thoughts would circle and circle and circle and they didn't stop. It got worse and worse, until he was barely keeping afloat in the raging, storming sea that was his mind. Words would crash around his ears, and shame would choke him as it slid down his throat from and icy, salty wave. Tears would wet his cheeks and mingle with the droplets on his face. A drop for each dress and a drop for every beating he deserved, and a drop for every beating he would get, and a drop for every time he had to remind himself he was a FREAK.

Needless to say, Harry's face was rather wet thanks to his thoughts. But the scratching…oh the scratching was like a piece of driftwood. It wasn't very stable, and it didn't do a whole lot, but it gave him something to lean on, and it helped when the heaviness in his heart started to drag him down, down, down. The scratches hurt differently from his fingers. They stung and burned and ached for _days_ and Harry needed (hated? Abhorred? Adored? Loved? Wanted?) that. He needed a new kind of pain to make the thoughts quiet. To make his mind shut up, so he didn't slip beneath the water. To help him power through the stormy waves.

But just like his fingernails, the scratching soon wasn't enough. And Harry was drowning again. The waves were growing stronger and he couldn't _breathe_ and he needed something, _anything_ to help him (someone help me, please please please please!).

And then he found something new. Dudley had managed to crack and shatter his new handheld pencil sharpener, and it had been tossed in the trash bin. A few hours later, had Harry had been shoved into those same bins by his cousin and his friends during another round of Harry Hunting. As he slowly began crawling out of the metal containers, the boy had slipped and fallen on the broken sharpener. His palm had stung and burned and it was so much _better_ than his fingernails!

Harry had picked up the broken sharpener and hid it in his pants. That night he had fallen asleep with tears on his face and blood on his thighs. A preacher had once told him he was on a sure path to Hell. If he wasn't already going to Hell, Harry was certain he was now.

-.-.-.-

Blaise was curled up in the corner rocking quietly as he pressed his forehead to his knees. His hands were wrapped over his head protecting his neck and his favorite blanket was laying over him. Blaise loved this blanket, because it made a curtain. A curtain he could hide behind when things got bad. Like tonight, when he was huddled up against the cabinets, desperately trying to ignore the angry words filling the air.

"I won't stand for it! The girl has to go! This is something that needs to be _fixed_, Alessandra! There is something—something _wrong_ with her, and I won't have her under this roof!" Harrison screamed. Blaise knew the wizard was probably jabbing an accusatory finger in his direction, but the boy didn't care. Mamma would make him go away. Mamma always made the angry men go away.

"That is _enough_ Harrison!" Alessandra nearly hissed. His mother's shoes clicked menacingly on the tile floor, and Blaise rocked faster. "My _son_ is perfectly healthy, and there isn't a damn thing wrong with him. You are an ignorant, arrogant bastard! How _dare_ you tell me what to do with _my_ child?! You, who hardly know him! The only person who needs to be _fixed _in this room, is you!" Blaise flinched violently at the sound of flesh on flesh, unmistakably a slap of some sort. Everything was eerily silent after that, and Blaise felt his breathing stop.

"You have ten minutes to gather your things and leave this house." Mamma warned and Blaise paled. They never left fast enough. None of them ever did.

Ten minutes later, Blaise was being cradled and rocked in his mother's arms as she cooed to him. "I'm so sorry sweetie. I didn't want you to hear that. Hush now, you haven't done anything wrong, I promise. Shhh, you're okay, you're okay." Blaise refused to look at the floor, refused to think about the blood that was probably staining the previously pristine tile.

"Is he gone Mamma?"

"Yes baby, he's gone now. Just you and me, right?"

"Right Mamma." Alessandra rocked her son again as she left the kitchen for her bedroom. "What do you say we go get you a haircut tomorrow hmmm? Your hair is growing awfully long again." Blaise nodded against his mother's shoulder.

"Can we get ice cream too?" Alessandra grinned as her little boy blinked up at her with sleepy, chocolate brown eyes.

"Of course baby." She promised as she ran a hand through his curly hair. She pressed a kiss to his forehead and tucked his blanket around him. "I love you my precious little boy." She whispered, as she slipped from the room to floo a cleaning crew. She had some filth in the kitchen that needed to be…disposed of.


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm back! Things are really going to pick up in this chapter and I'm going to try to be a little steadier and consistent with my updates, but no promises. **

**TRIGGER WARNING: Self harm, abuse, and depression are all present in this chapter.**

**This story has a Blaise/Harry pairing, and will contain NONBINARY characters. If you don't like that, don't read this and don't flame me.**

**AndrewZachariah**

Harry winced as he accidentally rolled onto one of his fresher cuts. He quickly sat up and checked his arms to make sure the scabs hadn't been further torn by his movements. Biting his lip at the droplets of blood welling on some of the cuts, Harry pushed himself up from his cot and grabbed his coat hanger. He slipped it through the grate of his cupboard door and easily slid the lock open. Harry had hidden the hanger beneath his cot when he was around nine after his relatives had completely forgotten about him for an entire week.

Gently pushing open the door to his cupboard, Harry checked his sleeves to make sure his arms were completely covered, and slipped into the kitchen on silent feet. He had perfected the art of walking without making noise. It helped keep the beatings to a minimum.

Sweeping his hair up into a ponytail with one hand, Harry expertly tied it back with the other and set about gathering eggs and bacon and such for his family's breakfast. Humming to himself as he began to crack the eggs, Harry couldn't help but sway his hips to his own music. He liked the domesticity that came with cooking. It was something girls were supposed to do, and Harry was very good at it. Cooking was the one _girl_ thing he allowed himself. He couldn't give himself anything else though, lest he risk having more of his freakishness discovered.

Pulling down another pan and setting it on the stove, Harry slit open the package of bacon and laid several pieces out to cook. These would be Uncle Vernon's pieces of bacon, and therefore needed to be cooked just to the point of curling but without burning or becoming crispy. Dudley's bacon would be extra crispy and nearly burnt, and Aunt Petunia didn't like bacon so he wouldn't make her any.

The sound of the mail dropping through the slot had Harry temporarily abandoning his post in the kitchen to collect it. About two years ago the postal delivery times for Little Whinging had changed, and Harry thought it was for the best. The post used to arrive right in the middle of breakfast when it was hardest for Harry to hear the envelopes dropping over Dudley's whining. He'd received more than one bruise from Uncle Vernon for not fetching the mail fast enough. Now that it came earlier Harry was free to collect the mail and sort it for his relatives while he was cooking, thus limiting the amount of punishments he could earn from Uncle Vernon.

Scooping up the pile, Harry hurried back to the kitchen to flip the bacon, expertly scanning and sorting the mail. It was the final letter at the very bottom of the stack that threw a wrench in Harry's morning routine.

_Mr. H Potter  
The Cupboard Under the Stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whining  
Surrey_

Harry froze. A letter? For him? Surely not. There had to have been some mistake! Harry flipped the envelope over; looking for signs of…well he wasn't sure what exactly. Anything to suggest reason as to _why_ there was a heavy, parchment envelope addressed to a freak like him sitting in Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's mail he supposed.

Harry's eyes grew wider as he took in the elaborate crest and seal at the back of the envelope. This looked awfully official and serious. Was he in trouble? Had someone discovered his dresses and make up? Harry's breath hitched in his chest and he bit his lip until it hurt. Nobody could possibly know about that! Annie was the only person he'd told, and she had moved two years ago. She hadn't told anyone had she?! Harry's lip was bleeding and his heart rate skyrocketed as he tried to control his fear.

The smell of bacon beginning to burn had him snapping back to reality. Shoving the letter into his waistband under his shirt, Harry resolved to himself that he would think about it later. He had to focus on making breakfast at the moment. Rushing to save the bacon before it burnt too much, Harry quickly designated that batch as Dudley's and started on Uncle Vernon's once more, studiously ignoring the letter resting against the small of his back.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs alerted Harry to his relative's presence, and he forced himself not to think about the letter as he quickly plated and served the food he had cooked. He bolted back to the kitchen to slice some fruit for Aunt Petunia and grab the pitcher of orange juice as well. He had just managed to set down Uncle Vernon's coffee and retreat to his corner of the dining room when Dudley descended the stairs.

Harry let out a relieved breath. He had finished breakfast just in time. As the Dursleys gathered for breakfast, Harry allowed his mind to wander, but not too far in case he got too distracted to care for his relatives while they ate. At the end of the meal, Aunt Petunia pinned a list of chores to the corkboard on the wall in the hallway with a barked "Get to it boy!" Harry sighed. Today was going to be a long day.

-.-.-.-

It was near sunset by the time Harry managed to finish his chores and flee the Dursley household in favor of spending time at the neighborhood park. It wasn't a great park by any means, and the handful of play sets were run down and destroyed by the angry teenagers in the area who liked to drink and smoke here at night. But it had one swing that could hold Harry's slight weight, so it was good enough for him.

Gently sliding onto the swing, Harry steadied himself by digging his toes into the sand. He rocked just slightly and stared at the myriad of colors in the sky, before reaching behind his back and pulling out the letter. Holding his breath faintly, Harry steeled his nerves and slid his finger underneath the flap, nearly flinching as the wax seal broke. With tentative movements, he pulled out several pieces of heavy parchment. Starting with the topmost letter, Harry began to read the loopy calligraphy with no small amount of difficulty.

After a few minutes he began to laugh.

Had the teenagers in the neighborhood been near, they likely would have turned to run at the sound of the hysterical laughter echoing from Harry. The boy clutched his stomach and diligently ignored the tears sliding down his face.

A wizard? Him? Ha!

And yet, something tugged at his gut. Something was whispering to him, whispering about his teacher's blue hair, and that time he was suddenly on the roof top while Dudley and his gang were chasing him, and the way his hair stayed perpetually long even when Aunt Petunia would sheer it all off. It was always reaching the ends of his shoulder blades by the time he woke the next morning.

More tears fell from Harry's eyes as his laughter turned to sobs.

Why hadn't his magic saved him before? Why hadn't it stopped the beatings? Why didn't it do something about his body?! Why would it allow this horrible, god awful curse to go on?! _Why was he stuck in this body?!_

It wasn't really about the letter anymore, Harry new that. He forced himself to breathe deeply. In through his nose, out through his mouth, nice and even. _No more crying Potter. Get it together; you have other things to worry about._

Things like, how in the world he was going to afford all of the supplies for school, or the tuition for that matter. And where the hell was he supposed to find robes at? And a cauldron—what did a cauldron even look like?!

Harry sucked in another deep breath. The Dursleys were planning a supply run to London next weekend to gather Dudley's school supplies. Harry already knew he was going to be dragged along because Mrs. Figg was in the hospital at the moment and they didn't trust him in the house. Harry could sneak out of the car and search London while they shopped. There had to be some shop somewhere that sold this kind of stuff. There simply had to be, and if there wasn't…well, Harry would worry about that then.

Carefully repacking the envelope, Harry slid it all back into the waistband of his pants and continued to rock on the swing. After several minutes he slowly pulled his hair out of its ponytail and allowed the wavy locks to fall down his back. With nimble fingers, he expertly weaved the strands together until there was one long braid resting over his left shoulder. Harry let out a shaky breath. _Just for now. I'll go back to the Dursleys in a couple minutes. I can't let my freakishness out for too long. Just a little bit._

Harry stroked his fingers over the braid and sighed almost inaudibly. He had missed this, god he had missed this.

The sun had set and it was rapidly growing dark. Yanking his fingers through the braid, Harry quickly tied his hair up in a bun and ran back to number 4 Privet Drive. He slipped in through the back door just as his Aunt was coming into the kitchen to lock up for the night. Avoiding her disapproving glare easily, Harry went to his cupboard and quickly stuffed the letter inside his pillow case and lay down on his cot.

Willing his swirling thoughts to quiet and still, Harry fell into a shallow sleep filled with dreams of a man who loved all of him (even his freakishness) and magic, and make up, and smiles that never dimmed, and happiness that never died.


	9. Chapter 9

**Before we begin, I would like to thank MidnightFedora for their absolutely wonderful review. This is a story I'm really proud of, and your review made my stomach do all kinds of happy flips! **

**To everyone else who has reviewed and messaged me, I cannot thank you enough. Your support means the world to me, and I'm glad you are enjoying this story.**

**TRIGGER WARNING: Self harm, and depression are both present in this chapter.**

**This story has a Blaise/Harry pairing, and will contain NONBINARY characters. If you don't like that, don't read this and don't flame me.**

**AndrewZachariah**

The first time Blaise Zabini had realized he was different he had been three years old. His mother's current husband had been abroad for nearly two weeks, and had returned while Blaise and his mother were visiting the Malfoys. Blaise didn't remember the man's name, but he did remember the gifts he had returned with.

The man had pulled a shrunken box out of his pocket, and upon enlarging it he had given both Draco and Blaise permission to open it. Blaise could distinctly remember the giddy excitement that had blossomed in his chest when he had pulled out a large Quidditch stadium complete with action figures for one of his favorite teams.

Blaise had turned around to thank his current 'father' only to have the stadium and figurines gently pried from his fingers and handed to Draco instead. "Quidditch is for little boys." The man had admonished with a chiding tap to Blaise's nose. "This is for you." And suddenly Blaise's had an armful of the puffiest, frilliest monstrosity of a dress he had ever laid eyes on in his admittedly short life. Blaise distinctly remembered the way his stomach had twisted, and how he had been forced to smile and give his thanks. He may have been only three, but he had known what to do; you always thanked people when receiving gifts, even if you didn't like them.

Blaise had taken the dress home and stashed it in the deepest recesses of his closet along with all the other dresses and skirts he owned. He had cried himself to sleep that night thinking about the beautiful Quidditch stadium that had been so callously handed over to Draco.

Three years later an uncontrollable fit of accidental magic would light that particular dress aflame, and Blaise would sit by and watch it burn with no small amount of satisfaction. After all, he was a boy and he did _not_ want to wear a dress.

-.-.-.-

Harry sighed as he squeezed himself into the farthest corner of the backseat, forcing himself not to react to Dudley's incessant poking, prodding, and teasing. He had been in the car for nearly 45 minutes, and Dudley had been a miserable nuisance the whole time, not that Harry would dare say that aloud. The Dursleys had been up earlier than usual this morning in order to avoid traffic on the drive to London, and Dudley's lack of sleep was simply fueling his urge to tease his younger cousin. Several strands of hair brushed against Harry's face, and the boy pushed them back with a sigh. His hair was pulled back in its usual bun, and Harry was determinedly ignoring how badly he wanted to take it down and braid it.

Today was one of _those_ days.

Sometimes Harry would wake up, and everything would just be _wrong_. It was like waking up to see a green sky and blue grass; completely wrong in every way. Harry had woken up feeling as if he was going to burst out of skin that just didn't fit him. He was thankful his relatives hardly ever let him look in the mirror, because he didn't think he could have handled seeing a scrawny _boy_ staring back at him. Today he was feeling so feminine that he nearly threw up at the thought of having to put on his usual baggy pants and oversized gray shirt.

Today he wanted to wear a dress. He wanted to wear one of the dresses in the box in the attic, but he couldn't and that hurt. God, it hurt _so much_. Harry curled into a smaller ball and wrapped his thin arms around his clenching stomach. Bile was rising in his throat and his eyes were beginning to burn with unshed tears. Grinding his teeth together, Harry looked out the window and watched apathetically as cars drove past. Dudley continued to poke him; Aunt Petunia continued to tell Uncle Vernon all about What's-Her-Face from three doors down and her disgraceful garden; and nobody noticed the blood slowly staining Harry's shirt sleeve as he idly scratched at healing scabs.

-.-.-.-

Harry frowned as he stared at the letters he had received two weeks ago. He had absolutely no idea where to begin hunting down even a quarter of the items on this list, let alone how he was going to pay for it. Harry subtly glanced across the street at the designer boutiques and prim cafés. The Dursleys did all their shopping in the expensive portions of London, so Harry figured he would need to get out of this district before he could even hope to begin looking for reasonably priced to school supplies. With that thought in mind, Harry refolded the letters, slipped them back into their envelope, and took off down the nearest sidewalk.

He made it down an innumerable number of blocks and more than one shady alleyway before he thought he was finally reaching a district he might be able to afford purchasing from. The walk had taken a while, and Harry assumed it was lunch time because his stomach was beginning to protest loudly. Wincing at a particularly harsh hunger cramp, Harry stopped outside a coffee shop. Perhaps he could slip in and ask for some water, but maybe not. They would probably be able to tell he was a freak, and he wanted to avoid being kicked out onto the street if he could. Sighing, Harry looked across the road, taking a moment to watch passerby and other shoppers as they walked to and fro. It took only a few minutes for Harry to notice something was wrong.

While this was by no means an expensive shopping district for the rich, Harry knew it was not the cheapest either. Yet, right across the street was a rather decrepit bar or pub of some sort. It was a dirty brick building with an old wooden door and an iron witch stirring a cauldron hanging over it. Harry bit his lip. Could it mean….no, surely not? This couldn't possibly be the place he was supposed to buy his school supplies at.

Harry squinted as he tried to get a better look at the building, but the sun and pedestrians were blocking his view. Shuffling his feet uncertainly, Harry quickly ran across the busy street with swift looks to either side to make sure no cars were approaching. Once he was safely on the sidewalk, Harry checked for a window to peek through, but there were none. Forced to approach the door, Harry did so cautiously only to leap backwards as it was abruptly thrown open by two laughing men on their way out of the pub. Neither took notice of Harry, and as the door was swinging shut behind them he could hear low chatter, the sound of cutlery on dishes, and glasses clinking as they were set on tables. The smell of greasy pub food overwhelmed his nose for a moment, and Harry firmed his resolve. He had to find somewhere to purchase his school supplies at, and this very well may be the only place he could do so. If it turned out to be too dangerous, he would make a hasty retreat and he would find somewhere else to shop at.

Nodding his head, Harry pulled the door open and slipped inside. There was no going back now.

-.-.-.-

Tom had been running the Leaky Cauldron for a few decades now, though he had been around for even more. This pub was his home, and he had fond childhood memories of running around tables and chairs, and helping his Pa in the kitchen while his Ma manned the bar. Yes, Tom had been around for quite some time, but nothing could have possibly prepared him for this.

Tom had felt the simple ward around the door buzz to signify a new patron's entrance, but he hadn't bothered to look up from his cleaning. Whoever they were, they would either order eventually, or they were simply passing through on the way to the Alley. It wasn't until the noise in the room abruptly dropped, that Tom finally looked up.

A young child was standing in the middle of the room, obviously having been weaving his way through the myriad of tables, when someone has stopped him. Indeed, an elderly witch was holding his arm so tightly the kid had to be losing blood to his hand as she stared at him in awe. "By Merlin, you're Harry Potter!" She breathed excitedly. The boy paled and started to tug his arm out of her grip.

"I'm sorry; you must have the wrong person. I'm not—" But it was too late. Wizards and witches were on their feet in seconds, rushing to surround the boy, and Tom hurried to put his glass and cloth down so he could go rescue the lad.

"It's an honor to meet you Mister Potter!"

"Where have you been all these years?!"

"Thank you so much Mister Potter!"

"Mister Potter can I have ya autograph?"

"Mister Potter can I—"

"Mister Potter, I've wanted to—"

"Mister Potter—"

A loud bang had several witches and wizards closest to the boy flying backwards. The lad was trembling in fear or rage, Tom couldn't tell you, and several locks of his hair were hanging around his face obviously having been pulled free from their bun in all the commotion.

"How—how—how _dare_ you?!" The boy seemed to have been at a loss for words, and Tom hurried to push his way through the crowd before things got even worse. "I don't know _any_ of you! I don't want any you touching me; I don't want to give you anything; I don't want to know what you want from me, and I most certainly will _not_ give you my autograph!" The boy shouted as he turned a seething glare on one particular wizard. "I don't even know how you all know who I am!" Tom finally broke through the throngs of people with a frown on his face. How could Harry Potter not know how they knew who he was? Tom pushed that thought aside and quickly held up his hands towards the angry, frightened boy.

"Mister Potter, my name is Tom; I own this here pub and inn. May I escort you into the alley?" Oddly enough, Mister Potter seemed to get even more confused and frustrated at that, and Tom rushed to patch things up. "You're here to get your school stuff right lad?" At the boy's reluctant nod, Tom began herding him towards the back of the bar.

"Fantastic, I'll just help ya into Diagon Alley then!" Waving his wand behind them, Tom activated one of the bar's security wards, and everybody in the room was abruptly forced into a chair and restrained there through a body binding curse. They would stay there until Tom returned and deactivated the ward, and in the meantime the bartender would assist the wizarding world's hero.

-.-.-.-

Harry's heart was beating far faster than it should be as he followed the bartender towards the back of the pub. How had all those people known his name? And why did they all swarm him like that? You'd think he was famous or something from the way they had all latched onto him! Shivering slightly both in fear and disgust, Harry rubbed his arms briskly. He hated when people touched him without his permission, or in general, really. Harry didn't trust people to touch him without it backfiring on him. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had proved how dangerous it was to trust people on more than one occasion.

"Right here we are." The bartender—Tom was his name right?—stopped in front of a brick wall, startling Harry from his thoughts. He raised a brow; what did the man want out here? There was nothing but some trash bins and a broom. Harry was seriously beginning to question the sanity of these people, and his own at that. Why had he ever thought it was a good idea to enter the bar in the first place?

Tom pulled out a slender piece of wood, and Harry's eyes widened as the man tapped some bricks and the whole wall began to _move_. Perhaps he really _was_ going insane. He was so astonished; he nearly missed the man's parting words.

"Head straight down the alley to Gringotts, the white bank at the end there." Tom was pointing, but Harry was thoroughly distracted by, well everything else in the alley. "You can't miss it, and the goblins will help ya get everything sorted." Harry nodded absently as the man turned to go back into his pub.

"And Mister Potter?" Harry tore his eyes away from the fascinating display of magic and looked at the balding…wizard he supposed. "It's good to have ya back." Harry blushed and stared dumbly as the man disappeared into his bar. Turning back to the alley, Harry steeled his frazzled nerves. He could do this. He was a wizard, right? He could do this, no problem. Sure, yeah.

Harry stepped into the alley, and as the wall closed—since when could _walls _close?—behind him, the boy couldn't help but wonder what he had gotten himself into.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey folks! I know there was a huge gap there in my updates, but I promise I haven't forgotten about this story. My life got a little crazy there for a while, but I'm back with another chapter for everyone! We'll see how much crazier things get in the future, but for now, I hope this chapter will suffice.**

**TRIGGER WARNING: Some mentions of self harm and bullying, as well as a panic attack.**

**This story has a Blaise/Harry pairing, and will contain NONBINARY characters. If you don't like that, don't read this and don't flame me.**

**AndrewZachariah**

Blaise threw one of his plainer sets of robes on and smoothed them down, checking his reflection in the mirror as he did. He didn't particularly care about his appearance, after all, in the grand scheme of things appearance didn't really matter all that much, but his mother had always emphasized looking presentable. As a pureblood, it was almost a duty that Blaise look presentable in public at all times. Not a hair could be out of place unless he was within the safety of his own home. Blaise slid an earring through the hole in his left earlobe and smiled. It was an old heirloom from his grandmother, one that he cherished, particularly since she was growing frailer with each day that passed, not that she would ever admit that. The earring itself was one that she had worn on all the important occasions in her life, and she claimed it carried old magic that provided good luck. Blaise wasn't sure if he believed that claim, but he still enjoyed wearing it. He reached up and gently tugged on the dangling emerald. If it did carry luck, he didn't think he would need it today. After all, he was just going to get his school supplies with Draco, nothing really major or life threatening. After sliding his shoes on, Blaise left his room and bounded down the staircase, sliding to a stop in front of the head of the Malfoy household.

"Good morning Mister Malfoy." He greeted with a smile at the older wizard. Lucius smiled back and ruffled the boy's hair.

"Good morning to you as well Blaise. Are you excited to get your school supplies today?" Blaise nodded eagerly, his bangs flopping around his eyes a little as he did.

"Oh yes! Mamma says I may upgrade my cauldron since Draco and I have been doing so well with Professor Snape! I'm hoping to get a gold or platinum set!" Lucius smiled at the boy and tugged on one of his tightly curled bangs.

"I'm quite sure we'll be able to find you one. Go sit down for a quick breakfast, Draco will be down soon." Blaise nodded and headed into the dining room. Lucius smiled softly after the boy, thinking of his wife and son. Draco and Blaise had been practically raised together. Narcissa's and Alessandra's pregnancies had been so close together the boys were born just a few months apart. The women had bonded during their pregnancies, and after the events surrounding Alessandra's last husband, well, Blaise and his mother had truly become part of the Malfoy family. Lucius was grateful for their presence really. He and his wife would never be able to conceive another child. Draco's pregnancy had been a miracle in and of itself, and the pregnancy had certainly taken a toll on Narcissa. Blaise was a second son to them, and Draco a second son to Alessandra.

The Malfoy patriarch shook himself out of his memories and headed into the dining room, kissing the top of his wife's head as he sat down. Blaise was munching on an orange slice and grinned as his mother came in as well.

"Good morning Mamma!" He hopped up and dashed over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her tightly. "Il sole è luminoso , gli uccelli cinguettano , e io ti amo !" (The sun is bright, the birds are chriping, and I love you!) His mother smiled and embraced him warmly, her ringlets brushing his cheek as she kissed his forehead.

"Il sole è luminoso , gli uccelli cinguettano , e io ti amo. Are you excited for the trip today my darling?" Blaise nodded and sat back down, babbling to his mother about the cauldron he was excited about. Alessandra smiled and dished herseslf some fruit, staring at her son as she ate. She couldn't help soaking up his excitement as he talked. There was a time when he had been so quiet, so sad, for so long. Alessandra's heart dropped a little as a memory of her little boy years ago swam to the surface.

_Blaise hadn't greeted her at the floo like he normally would. Alessandra frowned, gathering her robes in one hand and quickly mounting the staircase. _

"_Blaise?" She called as she walked down the hall. "Mamma's home darling, are you here?" She paused outside of his room and knocked on the door. "Blaise?" The sound of loud sniffles reached her ears and Alessandra frowned as she opened the door. Blaise was curled up in a ball in the center of his bed, blankets wrapped all around him._

"_Oh darling, what's wrong?" Alessandra immediately perched on the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around the bundle of blankets, pulling her son closer to her. The sniffles grew louder, and with them so did Alessandra's worry. She rubbed her son's back over the comforter and gently pulled him onto her lap, still wrapped in his blankets._

"_I-I'm a f-freak and you shouldn't have to d-deal with f-freaks like me Mamma." Her son murmured before bursting into tears again. At that moment Alessandra's heart broke, and she held her son tightly against her._

"_No, no, you are __not_ _a freak my sweet boy. You are smart, kind, and unbelievably talented at so many things. You are precious. Whoever said you were a freak?" She ran her fingers through his hair and rubbed his cheek with her thumb as she cupped his face. Blaise's lip trembled and he buried his face in his mother's chest._

"_S-some of the kids at school…" He mumbled tearfully. Alessandra's stomach clenched with fury and she rubbed her son's back again. "They said I'm not a boy, I am a liar cause I'm r-really a g-girl." Blaise sobbed harder and Alessandra made a vow then and there that her son would be able to feel confident in his identity for the rest of his life. She rocked him soothingly and smoothed his hair out of his face._

"_You are not a liar, my darling. You are being true to yourself. You are a boy because you believe you are, and only you can change that, no one else." She rubbed his back again and tipped his chin up. "Do you like going to school, Blaise?" The little boy frowned and shook his head, picking at his comforter as he did._

"_The other kids are really mean to me….they all say I'm a liar." Alessandra cupped his cheeks in her hands and kissed his forehead._

"_You know, Draco has a private tutor that I am sure would be happy to teach you as well. Would you like to take lessons with Draco instead?" Blaise peeked up at her, his mouth agape slightly with surprise._

"_Really Mamma?" She smiled and nodded, ruffling his hair some._

"_Of course my darling." Blaise grinned and nodded as hard as he could._

"_Oh yes please Mamma!" He bounced a little on her lap, his tears all dried now. "Thank you Mamma, thank you!" His mother smiled and kissed his forehead._

"_Of course my darling, and in the future, should anyone else ever call you a liar, you stand tall and proud. You are a pureblood. You are a boy. You are precious, and you are proud of that." She tapped his nose with a smile and Blaise nodded._

"_Yes Mamma."_

Alessandra looked up as Draco sat down next to Blaise. The two were practically inseparable, as close as brothers. Draco loaded his plate with some food and immediately began chatting with Blaise, the conversation entirely centered on their trip to Diagon Alley. A smile settled on Alessandra's lips as she speared another strawberry. There was a time when her son would cry himself to sleep, but not anymore, not if she could help it.

-.-.-.-

This alley was the busiest place Harry had ever set foot in. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt like she couldn't breathe as her vision swam a little. People were swarming past her in large groups wearing brightly colored dresses of sorts. Snippets of conversations assaulted her ears, and Harry's breathing grew even shallower.

"There's a sale at Flourish and Blotts today—"

"13 sickles?! You've got to be kidding me!"

"I'll take a gram of powdered dragon scales—"

"How about a Kneazle, Jacob—"

A grating sound filled Harry's ears and she whipped around in slight horror as the wall closed behind her. "No!" She breathed as she pounded on the bricks. She couldn't be trapped here! There was too much! What was she going to do? Stars filled Harry's vision and black spots began to creep up at the edge of her sight. She felt she was going to pass out, and she knew that would be very, _very_ bad.

_Breathe, Harry, you have to breathe!_ Harry dug her nails into her forearm, tearing some more scabs as she clenched her arm. The spike of pain brought her back a little, and she forced herself to take deep, slow breaths. She wasn't sure how long she stayed by the brick wall, slowly breathing and calming down, but she thought it was probably about ten minutes. When she no longer thought she was going to pass out, Harry carefully stepped further into the alley.

The traffic was absolutely insane. People were walking in every direction. Crowds gathered outside shop windows, a line was building outside what looked like a book shop, and people were bargaining with one another in the street. Harry looked up the street trying to find—what did Tom call it? Greengotts? Gringo? Gringotts! It was a bank of sorts, right? Harry squinted down the street, her eyes falling on a large, marble building. That had to be a bank; it looked big and professional, just like all the other banks Harry had ever seen.

Biting her lip, Harry carefully eased into the traffic of the alley, quickly getting swept up in the crowds. Her heart began to pound again, and she tightened her grip on her arm, her nails digging into the open wounds. She forced herself to keep breathing as she was pushed forwards by other...witches and wizards. As she approached the bank, she broke from the crowds and stumbled a little on the cobblestone, grabbing the marble handrail to keep her balance. The stairs were magnificent, and Harry couldn't help gingerly setting her feet down as she climbed them, not wanting to muss them with the dirt from her shoes. Several other people were milling on the steps, and Harry quietly slipped past them unnoticed, years of experience at the Dursleys having made her a pro at sneaking. At the top of the stairs there were two large glass doors, a short, stout creature in armor at either side of the doors. They were standing at attention, and above the doors there was an inscription.

"Enter, stranger, but take heed  
Of what awaits the sin of greed,  
For those who take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly in their turn.  
So if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there." Harry shivered a little and quickly pushed through the doors, bowing slightly to the creatures as she did, unaware of their shocked looks as she stepped inside.

The bank was _massive_, absolutely huge. The counters were so tall she was sure she wouldn't be able to see over them! There were more people milling about inside, and more of those curious creatures as well. Harry's eyes widened as she realized many of those creatures were sorting gems right there at the counter! She gulped and shifted nervously, looking for an unoccupied creature. She saw one towards the end of the right counter and quickly and quietly walked towards him, her eyes barely peeking over the lip of the desk.

"Um, e-excuse me…" She murmured quietly, stammering nervously. The creature's ear twitched a little, and very slowly it looked up at her. It was obviously very aged, with heavy wrinkles covering its face, and some white hair barely showing on the top of its head. Harry's stomach twisted with nerves as she took in the creature's neatly trimmed, white beard, pointed teeth, and very long claws. "U-um, could you p-please help me?" The creature's eyebrow rose.

"And what, pray tell, am I to help you with?" It spoke with heavy sarcasm, and Harry felt her cheeks grow red.

"T-the man in the pub said I need to come to the bank. I, uum, I'm supposed to go to Hogwarts, but I d-don't have any money. Could you help me get a s-scholarship f-for my school supplies?" Harry couldn't help stammering more, her cheeks stained pink from embarrassment.

"Ah, a new student." The creature nodded and dug in its desk for a moment before procuring a long piece of what looked like parchment. "Name."

"Harry Potter." Harry replied. The creature froze and looked back up at Harry with another raised eyebrow.

"Mr. Potter this is no joking matter. These scholarships are for students who truly need them, and you are wasting my very valuable time." The creature scolded, frowning and baring its teeth in annoyance. Harry cringed at the title Mister, and frowned as well.

"What do you mean? I _do_ need a scholarship!" The creature frowned further, and leaned forward, looking Harry dead in the eye.

"Do you have the key to your vault Mr. Potter?" Harry cringed again and fought the urge to correct the creature.

"N-no, I'm s-sorry, w-what vault?" The creature's eyebrows rose with shock, and Harry flinched a little, irrationally fearing she might be struck. The creature was silent for several moments, staring at Harry with unnerving intensity.

"Griphook!" The creature suddenly shouted, its gravelly voice ringing throughout the room. Harry flinched again, and another creature came trotting up to the desk, bowing to the creature above it. Harry bit her lip nervously and shuffled her feet. "Take Mr. Potter to his vault manager and do not tell a soul, Griphook." The creature bowed again, and Harry's jaw clenched, her stomach roiling over the title.

"This way Mr. Potter." The creature led her down a long hall, and Harry felt as if she were going to be sick, her stomach twisting each time the creatures misaddressed her. They walked for what felt like a very long time, before stopping outside a grand, mahogany door. The creature knocked twice and then pushed the door open, owing as it did so.

"Mr. Potter is here to see you Sharptooth." Griphook announced as he bowed out of the room. Harry cringed again, and another creature behind a much smaller, simpler desk looked up. Its mouth opened slightly and Harry cringed again, worried by the look on its face.

"By Merlin, in all my years I never thought I would set my eyes on a grshynagr."


End file.
